


On the Other Bank

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Out of Body Experiences, Temporary Character Death, Yep it's October
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: The first time Holmes pressed his lips to mine with all the power of his mind, heart, and soul behind it, I was technically dead.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	On the Other Bank

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [На другом берегу](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347440) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Warnings: What can I say? It's October. And written in a huge rush. You have been warned.

The first time Holmes pressed his lips to mine with all the power of his mind, heart, and soul behind it, I was technically dead. I had drowned.

Or rather, Geoffrey Rogers had drowned me. A lucky blow on my old wound had staggered me, thrown me off balance, and Rogers took full advantage of the opportunity. He shoved me over, and I fell down the bank and into the stream.

I don’t remember my head striking a rock or losing consciousness, though both happened. That alone might have killed me, for I landed sideways with my mouth and nose facing the watery flow. But Rogers was taking no chances. He followed me down and held my face under the water to be sure of me.

It was my doom, but his own, too, for Holmes and the constables caught up with him just as he was struggling back up the bank. Holmes caught him by the heels and brought him low, but the constables were left to themselves to truly wrestle him into submission. For Holmes saw me – or rather, my body – lying in the stream and immediately sprang to my aid.

How could I know this? It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to wonder, and indeed I wondered at it a bit myself at the time, in a distant, almost clinical fashion. For I could see my body lying in the stream, see the actions of Rogers and the constables and Holmes, as if I were standing on the opposite bank. It was like watching a play, in a way; everything seemed interesting and yet unreal, almost unimportant. I could hear and see what was happening, but I couldn’t do anything about it except watch.

“Watson!” I heard Holmes’ shout clearly as he left Rogers to the constables and ran to my side, or rather to my body. I watched him drag my corpse from the water and fling himself down on his knees next to it, searching with eyes and hands for any signs of life. He undid my collar and ripped away my cravat to gain access to the skin of my throat, where no life stirred.

His mouth didn’t move. He _said_ nothing. And yet I heard Holmes plainly; his rising desperation as he realized there was no breath in my body, his terror-fueled resolve that I should _not_ die, along with a lurking, dark rage at Rogers that only grew with every passing second. I followed his litany as he retrieved resuscitation techniques from his brain-attic and put them into practice, raising and lowering my arms, pounding my back.

I saw water trickle from the half-open mouth, but it was the effect of gravity and Holmes’ movements, no volition of my own. My body remained a body, and I remained on the other bank.

Holmes turned my body over once again, lying my corpse on its back. He placed a hand against my throat one more time. His lips pressed together so tightly they went white, but my ears rang with his wordless shout of grief and fury at what he did not find. He leaned down, pinched the nostrils closed with one hand, sealed his mouth over the lips that had been mine, and blew.

And I knew. There were no words, no one single thought. I faced no grand choice, no clear vision of one path over another. But I made a decision all the same.

I coughed. My chest burned like fire and felt like lead. My body shuddered, and I vomited water all over the ground. I would have fallen into the mess had it not been for the strong hands gripping my shoulders, supporting me with utter determination.

“Watson.” Just my name, but there was a world of thanksgiving in Holmes’ voice. 

I had no breath or strength to speak, but I managed to place one hand on his arm, and I did not let go.

Neither did he.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted October 1, 2020


End file.
